


Dirty Laundry

by Calyxia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Humiliation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Sex Tape, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, forgive me sad dads for i have sinned, implied mental manipulation, implied suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 02:03:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10065134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyxia/pseuds/Calyxia
Summary: Jack began his day by welcoming back, with enthusiasm, an old friend that had long since become estranged: Hope.Had Jack known how brief the "visit" would be, he would have stayed in his goddamn bed.





	

For the first time in damn near a decade, Jack Morrison didn’t feel that dull throb in his heart (or its successor, numb acceptance) when he woke up alone.

Nope, not today.

He made his way to the shower without dragging his feet. Without a sense of dread curling in his gut and rotting him away just a little, little more than the day prior. Without any intrusive thoughts that had to be shoved away quickly (‘ _hey how about we skip getting in the shower today and get **out** of this building **out** **out out right** **through the window**_ ’) lest he feel any genuine temptation to act on them.

- _but did he mean it did he mean it did he **even mean it**_ -

Ah, well, not gone _entirely_. Still, in that moment, what normally bogged him down felt as powerless as the background radiation of the universe.

That was the kind of fortitude _hope_ gave you. Gen-u-ine, certified, FDA approved, straight-from-the-cutest-little-mom-n-pop-shop-you-ever-did-see _hope_.

God, his thoughts were even getting silly now. When was the last time…?

Jack can’t remember the last time he felt a sustained sense of happiness. He’s just fucking thankful that it’s here now and _please, please don’t leave again_ -

Right, the shower. While he was eager to take the wheel and get his life – and with it, his decaying mental health – back on track, he couldn’t snub the small stuff. It all mattered. Everything mattered.

Speaking of which, now was as good a time as any to address no small matter that he _had_ snubbed: his own memories.

The water was soothing. He was in the right headspace. He could do this.

_“Gabe, god damn it-“_

_The love of his life had slapped his hand away at that point, continuing to move down the hall as silent as a grave. Jack hadn’t relented, keeping pace with Gabriel; he needed to_ know _._

_“Jus—ugh, just_ answer _me. Do you really believe that I can’t do this job? That I’m completely unqualified?!”_

_Gabriel had finally, finally stopped moving then, but said nothing. He didn’t need to._

_His glare said it all._

That had been roughly nine years ago, after nearly two years of mounting tension that Jack had failed to notice ( _the promotion, it all went back to that_ fucking _promotion_ ) until the damage had been done. Jack cringed at how self-centered his past-self had been in that exchange. He had assumed Gabriel was simply jealous, and the other man had never made much of a case to counter that assumption. As the saying goes, hindsight is twenty-twenty. With a bit of distance – and the assistance of his current blessedly positive state – he could see _now_ that it had been far more complicated.

Really, the racist implications were _obvious_. Jack doesn’t know for certain if race was a factor in him being chosen over Gabriel, nor will he ever know for sure (who among the Overwatch higher-ups would ever _admit_ that?) but Gabriel certainly must have been suspicious that it was.

It must have seemed, in Gabriel’s eyes, like Jack didn’t give a damn about that.

God, if only Gabriel had _said_ something. Then again, Jack could have tried harder to see it from his angle. As brave and assertive as his once-lover was, Gabriel _did_ have hang-ups about expressing his feelings from time to time. Jack should have just . . . known.

- _wait no wait **no** something isn’t something’s **not right about that**_ -

Uh, uh. None of that now.

Jack had a clear mission: assess everything that had gone wrong, and improve his behavior henceforth.

It was the only way to keep this long awaited second chance from slipping away.

The rest of the conflicts were very similar, all rooted in a lack of communication and an abundance of misunderstanding. Their fights, in retrospect, likely had far less to do with their disagreements on policy or tactics and more to do with the perception Gabriel must have had that Jack _wouldn’t listen_ no matter what; that he _always_ thought he was right. Jack never meant…

- _wait but wait wait **wait he wanted to torture**_ -

…to give off that impression. Jack would endeavor to fix that; to be a better listener.

If Gabriel had trouble expressing himself, then Jack would try twice as hard. Take on the burden for both of them.

That’s what any good boyfriend does, right?

On that note, his stream of consciousness finally leads him to yesterday and the harrowing period leading up to it, when he _had_ proved himself to still be good boyfriend material. Jack, in turn, was reminded of how _loving_ , how _forgiving_ Gabriel can be when given a chance.

_Olympic torch bearers had nothing on Jack Morrison. Sure, they could carry a torch for miles, but Jack had been carrying his ‘Gabriel’ torch for_ years _. No matter how much farther they drifted from one another as time passed, Jack held out hope that reconciliation – the cauldron he was determined to light – was in store for them one day._

_As he stared at the Blackwatch post-mission report that read “Gabriel Reyes MIA,” Jack was faced with the harsh reality that he may have been too slow._

_His fire, his love, may have been snuffed out. May never come home to rest where it belonged._

_Jack wasn’t okay and hadn’t been for a long time. Not since Gabriel threw out that engagement ring he thought Jack didn’t know about._

_Not since … not since Ana … well._

_Jack already felt so alone and couldn’t live in a world where that was an objective fact._

_They had to find Gabriel._ Jack _had to find him, and he had to stop carrying the torch and **light the damn fire already.**_

_Six agonizing days later, Gabriel found his way back on his own._

_Of course he did. Of_ course _he did. Gabriel was strength incarnate. Nothing could—nothing would ever—_

_But who was he kidding, anyway? Gabriel was a mortal man with a limited time in this world just like anyone else and **this was Jack’s goddamn call to action**. He couldn’t justify his continued existence if he was such a coward that he’d let the love of his life jump out of his hospital bed and run off on another dangerous quest without--!! _

_Jack went to him that evening, alone. He practically prostrated himself and didn’t give a damn. He needed Gabriel back in his life, before either of them up and died and left the other bereaved with irresolvable regrets._

_Gabriel, like his namesake, was truly an angel and forgave._

_An angel he may be, but oh, he made love like the **devil** —_

The sudden spike of arousal at _that_ part of the memory shocked him out of his stupor. He’d gone into auto pilot while reminiscing, and found himself out of the shower and in the middle of brushing his teeth. His hair, whitened by years of stress rather than purely aging, glowed in his reflection.

At the risk of an awkward boner, his mind went back to last night. Gabriel hadn’t touched him like that in an age and Jack had _lost_ himself in it. He couldn’t recall half of what he’d babbled out in his passion, but Gabriel must have liked it if the way he throttled Jack into the mattress was _any_ indication—

Wow, yeah, Jack needed to stop right there for now. He could revisit this later when he _didn’t_ need to avoid walking to his office with extra tight pants.

“Good morning, Commander Morrison.” With excellent timing as always, Athena made her presence known with her standard pre-work hours greeting.

Huh, wait. Her timing was . . . actually not as excellent this morning? Jack had slightly lost track of time, admittedly, but it felt as though she was a bit late today.

“Good morning, Athena,” he returned smoothly. “Anything to report?”

“I took the liberty of fielding one call for you three minutes ago.”

Ah, that explained it. “From who?”

“The senior members of the U.N. Overwatch Council.”

Jack indulged himself with a long-suffering sigh. “What did they want?”

“They would not say. They only insisted that you contact them immediately.”

Okay, a little odd that they wouldn’t at least leave a brief summary of their agenda for Athena to relay to him, but it wasn’t enough to set him on edge.

“From my own analysis of their speech and body language,” Athena suddenly continued, “they seemed . . . flustered, Commander.”

Now that? That _did_ set him on edge, at least a little. It meant, in all likelihood, some kind of unpleasant conversation headed his way; something to derail his rare good mood.

No, _no_ , Gabriel taking him back was far too precious to be tainted by cranky politicians.

He could handle this, whatever it was.

\--

Typically when Jack encountered Gabriel’s men in the halls, he was consistently met with chilly indifference; a representation of the gulf that existed between Overwatch and its Blackwatch division and, by extension, Jack and Gabriel themselves.

Today, however, Jack had the all-new experience of being _leered at_ by three of these creeps.

He kept on his poker face like a champ while suppressing a strong shiver of _what the ever-loving fuck_ , but his façade almost cracked when he considered the possible reason.

One of them . . . one of them _could_ have been listening, hidden from sight just outside the med bay, as Jack had poured his heart out last evening. That hypothetical fucker could have gone on to _gossip_ about it.

Unfortunately, if true, that was more than an annoyance. That was _trouble_.

Overwatch may have been a fairly unorthodox addition to the world military scene, but it still had some good ol’ traditional rules about fraternization. Specifically, fraternization between a superior officer and their subordinates was well off limits.

Jack was, all drama aside, still Gabriel’s superior officer.

It was why Jack had needed to sneak back to his quarters in the early hours last night, why he couldn’t stay with the man he loved despite the _massive_ breakthrough they’d had.

Oh, lord above, was _this_ why _they_ had called?

He had no reason to believe that none of Blackwatch were above tattling to the Council when it suited them, when it could get _their_ commander’s rival _fired_.

Truth be told, in Jack’s darker moments, he had toyed with the idea of getting himself fired on purpose. He had toyed with . . . many bad ideas.

Jack grit his teeth as his palm came to rest on his office door’s scanner. So _what_ if they had blabbed to Jack’s bosses? As if they’d have any proof—

No, fuck all of that anyway. Jack had Gabriel back, all consequences be damned.

\--

Jack maintained that resolve even as he stared down five very dour holographic faces.

_This could have nothing to do with me_ , Jack’s mind supplied helpfully. In all likelihood, Talon was up to no good again or perhaps the Omnics—

“Commander Morrison.”

He refocused, and straightened his posture. Rather than ask, Jack waited for them to continue.

A few strained, silent beats went by before he was addressed again. “If you have not already,” continued the one who had spoken first, General Khazrae, “we need you to watch this.”

At that moment, a new file blinked into existence in the corner of his screen.

“Call us back immediately afterwards,” Khazrae finished, and Jack had just enough time to see her eyes narrow before the call screen went blank.

God, whatever it was, they sure were being _dramatic_ about it.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered to himself. As his hand went to tap the message’s icon, he tried again to mentally prepare by settling on what it most likely was, but he had nothing to go on. They wouldn’t tell Athena, they wouldn’t tell Jack just now, what cou—

“ ** _Ah!_** “

It began right away with a loud noise, a cry that Jack _recognized_ and as his eyes and brain began to process the video – a video, oh _Chris_ t – and what was happening in said video, Jack felt his stomach plummet as a rapid surge of panic exploded within him.

- ** _no no no how how how no NO NO_** -

For his own sake, Jack began to disassociate.

Distantly, Jack realized why they hadn’t said anything. It was a cruel attempt to catch him off guard before verbally sundering him, most likely. They didn’t want him to have time to prepare any excuses. As if he could. Not for this.

“ ** _Gab-Gabri-oooohmygod don’t stop PLEASE don’t stop--!!_** ”

“ ** _Nnnnnnnnnnlove your cock, love you so much—_** “

Ah, right, _that_ was what he’d babbled. He didn’t remember being this loud, though.

He thought about the placement of the camera, where it must have been set to capture Jack like this; the perfect angle to see his blissed-out face, his sweaty chest, his fully erect cock, his quaking legs wrapped around Gabriel’s strong back…

His whole damn _body_ was on display, right at the height of his and Gabriel’s passion.

Yeah, the _height_ in particular. None of the foreplay had been included, nor the less frenzied lovemaking that had led up to this. The intent was clear: show Jack Morrison at his _most_ vulnerable.

But _where_ had the camera been? The bookcase near the door, perhaps, hidden amongst Gabriel’s personal effects on the top shelf?

Better yet, how did this _pervert_ manage to sneak a camera into Gabriel’s room? It had to be someone Gabriel trusted enough to—

_Gabriel_.

_Oh, god in heaven, he’s gonna be **so pissed**_.

Jack had to tell him before anyone else did, if he didn’t already know. He had to consider the horrifying possibility that this wasn’t _just_ sent to the U.N. to put Jack on the spot. This could have been leaked to the fucking Internet. Knowing how cruel people could be, it probably was.

Fuck, he and Gabe had _just_ begun to work things out. This bullshit could ruin _everything_.

Fuck calling the Council of Assholes back. They could wait. He needed to find Gabriel.

In his rush to escape his office, Jack didn’t acknowledge the figure in his peripheral, suspiciously pressed up against the corridor wall next to his door.

Jack did, however, feel the blow to the back of his head.

\--

Really, what was more cliché than waking up after a surprise attack to find oneself tied to a fucking chair? A chair in a mostly dark room, no less, flanked by one’s captors.

Jack glared at said captors: the three Blackwatch agents that had been loitering in the hall, the ones who leered at him.

Well, Jack now had a very unfortunate explanation for the leering.

“I think it goes without saying,” Jack bit out, “that this, alone, lands the three of you in a fucking court martial.”

They didn’t seem particularly worried about that, the grins not slipping off of their faces.

“Mmm, look at him tryna act all tough,” one of them spoke up, a salacious tone to his voice that made Jack’s skin crawl. The man leaned forward. “You were never all that intimidating to begin with, _Jackie Boy_ , but _especially_ not now that I’ve seen you get _fucked like a bitch_.”

Jack was about ready to rise to the bait, to shout out an accusation ( _it was **you** , wasn’t it?!_), to curse this man’s name . . . only he realized that he didn’t know this man’s name, and that made him stop short.

He didn’t recognize the other two, either, and none of them were wearing any indication of their rank or last name. They had stripped themselves of all clues to their identities before jumping him. _Smart_ , he had to admit.

But not fucking smart enough to use something stronger than rope on a goddamn chemically-augmented super soldier.

If Jack could keep them talking, he could calmly work the ropes loose, fling himself at the nearest traitor, and subdue the three of them barehanded.

As a bonus, he could get some answers in the meanwhile.

“So, the whole reason you’ve just flushed the next 30-odd years of your lives down the toilet is, what, so you could satisfy your homophobia?” Jack replied coolly, not bothering to deny the sex act. Couldn’t hurt his chances to throw them off balance with a few unexpected responses. “Hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, it’s worth it,” a different one chimed in this time, “but this ain’t about you being a cockslut. Not even close.”

“We all kinda figured you took it in the ass, anyway, even _before_ your sex tape ended up all over the ‘net,” the first man added, his smirk now positively evil.

Good thing Jack had already resigned himself to that possibility. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back the pained expression that threatened to show itself. It was a small victory for his pride. He’d take it.

“Then why are we here?” Jack asked, keeping his voice neutral, like he was conversing with new acquaintances at brunch and not three maniacs who thought they had him at their mercy. _Not when I get these ropes off, they won’t_ , Jack thought, betraying nothing in his body language.

The leading man moved closer, and placed his hand around Jack’s neck. He didn’t squeeze, but the threat was there; a standard show of dominance. He tilted Jack’s head up.

“Because, _Strike-Commander_ ,” he spat the title out as though it were dirt, “today is Overwatch’s last. Fucking. _Day_.”

The term ‘serendipity’ typically has positive connotations. A series of coincidences manage to line up, and a thing that feels like _destiny_ happens. Usually a _good_ thing, so the perception goes.

But serendipity isn’t actually limited to good things.

For in that moment, that serendipitous moment, just after the traitor uttered the word “day,” Jack heard a distant rumble.

An explosion.

“Hell yeah, looks like we’re getting started for real!” the third man finally spoke, forgoing his previous stoicism to slap his own knee.

The hand on Jack’s neck squeezed a little, drawing his attention back to the man right in front of him, who began speaking again. “You see, Jackie Boy, we’ve come to the, heh, unanimous consensus that Overwatch is shit. We’re doing ourselves a favor and cleaning house today. When the whole world is done gawking at how slutty you sound when you cum, they’re gonna see the flaming carcass of this shitshow all over the news.” He licked his lips. “It’s gonna be a _hell_ of a day.”

For the second time that day, Jack allowed himself to disassociate. He had to let this . . . this unthinkable set of circumstances become background noise, lest he get swallowed by a miasma of emotion. He had to get these _fucking ropes loose_.

Luckily, he didn’t have to engage. The piece of shit standing in his personal space wanted to drive the proverbial knife in further anyway. “God, you have _no idea_ how much I wanna kill you, nice ‘n slow. I bet you sound just as pretty getting tortured as you do getting fucked.”

The part of Jack’s mind still paying attention noted that the creep was palming his crotch. Jack worked the ropes a little faster. Not too fast, tempting as it was. Couldn’t draw attention to it.

“Only reason I’m not gonna is cuz, well, someone I don’t wanna mess with wants your ass alive. I figure you’re gonna be handed over to Talon for a nice lump sum. Bet they’re nice and eager to make everyone’s favorite poster boy their new bitch.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, maybe if you’re a good boy they’ll let you have some cock now and then.”

The traitor squeezed Jack’s neck, and himself, a little harder. Jack was almost done.

“Got just one thing I’m dying to know, though. One little detail that the video didn’t catch.” His voice was getting lower, throatier. “Any bitch can take a cock,” he paused, a quiet groan vibrating out of him, “but how good are you at _sucking_ cock, Morrison?”

Serendipity was what it was, neither inherently good nor bad.

In that moment, it was good.

As Shithead #1 reached for his zipper, Jack’s bindings were finally as loose as he needed them to be.

Jack lunged, and with _great_ satisfaction kneed that fucker in the groin.

The other two didn’t stand a chance. Jack was too fast, and too close for them to draw their weapons in time. Jack threw the human garbage in his grasp at the second traitor. As they collided and hit the ground, Jack was already upon the third man. A vicious jab to the man’s throat stunned him, and Jack judo flipped him down upon the other two. The traitor’s gun dislodged from his side as he went down, clattering to the ground at Jack’s feet. Jack quickly snatched it up and aimed it at the pile.

“ _None_ of you move,” he said, voice laced with the implied threat.

One hand still aiming the gun, Jack used his other to check his pockets. His comm. unit was gone. Fuck, he couldn’t call for backup.

Another explosion sounded off, closer than the last one.

He needed to leave and assess the situation. He also needed to disarm the other two men without compromising his current advantage. The three traitors groaned pathetically as Jack weighed his options.

The sound of gunfire, very close by, made Jack’s breath catch. He kept his pistol trained on the men before him, hoping whoever won that skirmish was on _his_ side. Jack couldn’t rely on that, though. He needed to get _out_ of—

The door behind him opened.

A beat of silence passed; a small eternity of Jack wondering whether he was about to be saved or shot in the back.

“Jack?”

Oh _thank god_.

The limbs in the human pile went very, very still. The groaning stopped. Jack may or may not have heard one of them whisper a frightened, “oh _shit_.”

“ _Gabe_ ,” Jack replied, not at all bothering to hide how relieved he was and not giving a flying fuck about addressing him informally in the presence of others. Gabriel was alive, was with him now, and they were gonna turn this shit right around. There would _not_ be a psychotic coup today. No _sir_.

Jack didn’t turn as Gabriel approached him, much as he’d like to. He kept his gun trained on the Blackwatch agents instead.

“These three jumped me, brought me here,” Jack explained, “and got it in their heads that they were gonna get away with it.” Jack nearly mentioned the rape threat, but thought better of it. “What’s happening out there, Gabe? How many people have turned on us? I heard explosions…”

Jack trailed off, waiting for Gabriel to respond.

Gabriel halted right behind him. Jack could hear his love breathing over his right shoulder.

Gabriel _hmm_ ’d quietly.

Four concussive shotgun blasts rang out _right next to him_.

The pile of traitors became a pile of corpses.

“Fucking _useless_ ,” Gabriel growled.

Jack’s hands tensed on nothing, and he belatedly realized that he’d dropped his weapon in shock.

Looking to his right, he could see Gabriel’s arm still extended, shotgun in hand. Gabriel’s other arm came around his torso, fast, and yanked him backwards. His back collided with Gabriel’s chest. Hard. The muscular arm stayed put, constricting him.

The hand holding the shotgun moved again, then, and it—

No.

No.

It came to rest—

_No_.

- _no no oh my god no why no **how COULD YOU**_ -

The barrel came to rest on Jack’s shoulder, the business end…

_NO_.

…pointed right at Jack’s own head.

“Let’s take a walk, Jack,” Gabriel said calmly. _Calmly_. Like the whole world wasn’t ending.

As far as Jack was concerned, it absolutely _was_.

Numb, on the verge of an extreme bout of disassociation – now was absolutely _not the time_ – Jack allowed Gabriel to maneuver him around and guide him out of the room. A dead Overwatch agent was the first sight to greet him in the corridor, her chest caved in and face completely _gone_. His would-be savior, cut down by…

Cut down by the man who _should have_ been his savior.

_But why???_

Jack had questions, a hurricane of questions, all fighting to be asked first.

Just his luck that the one to escape his lips first was the most _painful_ one.

“You made the tape.”

He meant it as a question, but it didn’t come out as one. Logically, Gabriel was the most likely candidate. Who else had the foreknowledge, the opportunity, and the access?

Gabriel didn’t respond right away. Then, he let out a short, cruel bark of laughter. “Duh.”

_Duh_. Right. It was obvious to anyone who—

Who wasn’t an _idiot_ blinded by love, hope, and an utter desperation to fix the unfixable.

Jack choked on his grief and opted not to say anything further on the matter.

Gabriel, as it turned out, wasn’t done. “So, how pissed _were_ they?” He didn’t have to elaborate on who ‘they’ were. “I’d kill a man to go back in time and see their faces. Bet it was something _special_.”

“Oh my _GOD_ , Gabriel, _WHY_?” Jack felt the words erupt from his throat, but the voice didn’t sound like his own. Was it possible for his own voice to sound so _broken_?

The shotgun barrel dug into his neck.

“Why _what_? Why did I decide to burn Overwatch to the fucking ground, or why did I expose and humiliate you?” Gabriel huffed. “Doesn’t matter what you mean. They both have pretty much the same answer: punishment.” Gabriel paused. “’Course, you probably don’t think you deserve to be punished, but that’s only because you have no _fucking_ idea what you’ve done to me, _Jack_ _Morrison_.”

Jack breathed in sharply, suppressing what felt like the start of a sob. “Tell me, then. Tell me what I did.” Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much if Gabriel had _one_ sympathetic reason, whatever the fuck _that_ could be.

Gabriel continued as if Jack hadn’t spoken. “Really, though, you only have yourself to blame for the video. That wasn’t even part of the original plan, y’know? But then you _threw_ yourself at me, and I figured, why not? Besides,” Gabriel chuckled, “I can’t deny how _satisfying_ it was to show the whole world that you’re _mine_.” Gabriel’s tone lost its mirth when he added, “And now the U.N. knows who’s _really_ in charge around here.”

_He’s insane_ , Jack concluded, his heart pounding faster. _He’s insane, he is_ not _the Gabriel Reyes I knew, and I have no idea what he’s going to do next_.

“Where are you taking me?”

Gabriel didn’t answer.

“…Where were you for the last six days?”

Jack felt Gabriel breathe on his ear as the other man leaned closer. “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know,” the madman whispered coyly.

Talon got him. That had to be it. They did to Gabriel what they did to Amelie. They made Amelie kill her love, and now they were making Gabriel kill his.

Jack had to believe that. No other explanation was acceptable.

“Okay, Jack,” Gabriel said suddenly. “I’ll throw you a bone. _Again_.” If that was meant to be a sex joke, it wasn’t funny. “Let me tell you what I was _gonna_ do. I was gonna haul your ass out into the snow, make you get on your knees. Make you watch HQ burn for a little while. Then, when I was satisfied with your suffering, I was gonna _execute_ you.”

A shutter ran through Jack before he could stop it, and Gabriel responded with a sickening hum of pleasure. “What are you going to do _now_?” Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“I’m still hauling your ass outside,” Gabriel continued, “and you’ll still see Overwatch die while I do it, but I’m _not_ leaving your corpse in the snow. The more I thought about it, the less it appealed. I’d shoot you, you’d be dead, and that would be . . . _it_.” Jack felt Gabriel’s fingers dig into his side. “Frankly, I want _more_.” Gabriel’s breathing got heavier for a moment. “So here’s what you’re gonna do, Jack. You’re gonna get in the helicopter with me, behave yourself, and keep your fucking promise.”

“Which promise would _that_ be?”

“The one you made last night in the med bay, _idiot_ ,” Gabriel replied harshly. “The one about starting over with me, except you’re gonna do it _entirely_ on my terms.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Jack hissed. He refused, _refused_ , to start crying.

Gabriel laughed. “Maybe later, _mi luna_.” The endearment stung like a poison dart to the neck. “But right now, _Strike-Commander Morrison_ , I’m demanding your unconditional surrender.”

Jack . . . _officially_ reached his breaking point. He was past the threshold of shit he could take.

He slammed the back of his head into Gabriel’s face and fucking _ran_ for it.

Gabriel howled out a curse in Spanish, and pursued.

Neither of them got very far.

Jack heard a deafening blast behind him, too loud to be a shotgun. Somehow, he also heard Gabriel’s cry of surprise, cut short.

- ** _OH GOD_** -

Jack felt fire, and the sensation of falling.

It was over. All over.

He didn’t care if he died.

_And if he lived_?

He sure as shit didn’t want to be Jack Morrison anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Wew lads that was fun. :^)))))
> 
> I have no idea if anyone else wrote an angsty sex tape fic for these dudes, because there's nearly 2000 fics for this pairing on this website alone and I haven't read all of them yet. If someone did, pls point me in their direction. I'd love to read someone else's interpretation of this concept. Why, you ask? Same reason I wrote this: a Reaper76 public sex scandal is weirdly appealing to me.
> 
> Of course, my fic ended up focusing less on the scandal aspect (which was my original intent before I started writing it, believe it or not) and more so on PURE PAIN. Oh well. :')


End file.
